A Zombie Hides My Face
by Sheblet
Summary: AU. Jane shoots herself in the abdomen to save her brother, and when she wakes up, the world isn't quite the way she left it. Walking Dead/Rizzoli and Isles crossover. Rizzles, of course. Formerly They're Crying
1. The Sun Shines On

**A Zombie Hides My Face  
**

**Chapter 1:**

**The Sun Shines On**

When Jane Rizzoli wakes, she wishes she hadn't.

She feels sick, her body a mass of nausea and throbbing pain. Her mouth is so dry that it takes her a moment to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, and when she turns her head, the world tilts in all kinds of ungodly directions.

She tries to make a sound, to alert someone, but she can't. All that comes out is air. She tries again, louder this time, and the force seems to clear the sand from her vocal cords and she coughs, moans.

"He-elp," she manages, voice creaking. She gets no response and so she takes in her surroundings, tries to remember exactly _what the motherfuck is going on._

She realizes she is in the familiar but unwanted surroundings of a hospital room, but something is wrong. It's quiet here-deathly quiet. The machines beside her bed make no noise, their lights dead. There's an I.V. stuck in her arm, but the tube has become discolored from lack of use, the skin around the medical tape red and agitated.

When she decides that no one is going to answer her cries for help, she heaves herself into a sitting position and almost immediately regrets it. Pain jack knifes through her abdomen, and for a moment her world goes blindingly white. She gags, and the pain momentarily worsens, then dulls to a throb. She heaves, and all that comes up is red-tinged bile.

"Shit," she moans, an arm tucked into the crease in her middle. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, one at a time. She remembers now.

_"Shoot him! Just shoot him!"_

There had been a hostage situation. She'd been shot.

Or rather, she'd shot herself to shoot the killer….

She is in too much pain to try and work it all out now.

She nearly cries in relief when she looks to the bedside table and finds a glass of water there. It's warm, and tastes a bit like iron, but Jane couldn't give less of a shit if she tried.

However, she can't help but notice the wilting flowers also on the bedside table.

Jane's inner detective has begun to process what is occurring. How long has she been asleep? Why is she alone, and why has no one come to check on her? Why aren't the machines working?

Why does the room show evidence of being abandoned?

Fear twists her gut, and she knows she has to get to the bottom of this. She rips the tape from her arm and nearly vomits – the tube has been in far too long, and it looks infected. She grits her teeth and tugs the tube out, suppressing a sob.

Her legs quake beneath when she tries to stand. She drops heavily back onto the bed, then tries again. She has to go through the process several times before her weakened legs seem able to maintain her weight.

She is intent on getting the hell out of this disgustingly sterile room – she hates hospitals on a normal day – but when she pushes on the door, it doesn't open.

"Tha fuck-" she grunts, and shoves. The effort sends pain through her whole body, and it isn't with as much strength as she normally has, but something outside the door creaks loudly. The door moves a little.

Eventually, the door opens, and she finds that it had been blocked by a medical supply cart.

"Why…?" she wonders out loud, then stops herself, because talking to herself isn't going to solve anything.

As Jane travels through the halls towards the exit (she's been here enough times to know the layout) she notices that the rest of the hospital looks about as abandoned as her own room did, albeit a bit more disaster-struck. Gurneys are tipped over and shoved against walls, charts strewn, vases of flowers shattered.

And blood.

Blood _everywhere._

Jane is really scared now, and she wishes she had her gun. She wishes it even harder when she hears the moans coming from a padlocked set of double doors nearby. The words _do not open _are smeared across the doors in deep red.

Her insides chill at the sound – inhuman, breathy and grating, the moans make all of the hair on her body stand up. She decides to heed the warning, and the terror creeping up her spine has her running for the exit.

When she makes it outside, she has to shield her eyes. If she thought it was bright in the hospital, it was nothing compared to the light assaulting her retinas now.

And then her eyes adjust.

"Ohhhhh _shit,"_ she moans, low and grievous, as she takes in the hundreds of dead bodies strewn about the hospital's front lawn.

As the stench of death carries on the breeze, the sun shines on overhead.


	2. Head Hangs Lonely

******A Zombie Hides My Face**

**Chapter 2:**

**Head Hangs Lonely**

Jane hardly has the time to process before it's on her.

She's not sure what it is – it _looks_ human, but is decidedly not. It makes the same grating sound the things in the hospital had made, and it hobbles and limps with an inhuman speed. But that's not what disturbs her.

What makes the creature terrifying is the fact that it only has half a face. One eye, jaundiced and watery, rolls frantically in its socket but always stops every few seconds to focus on her. What's left of its jaw hangs, distended, from a few remaining tendons, which occasionally shorten then lengthen as it gnashes its blackened teeth. Its arms are fleshless meat, the bones of fingers reaching for her. It reeks of death.

Jane doesn't make a sound. She doesn't scream, doesn't cry. She's too used to fighting for her life, and her body has shut off all reason and gone into survival mode. But right at this second, she is not quite equipped to fight. So she runs instead.

Except she's not really equipped for running, either, and she's winded within moments. Her hospital gown flaps at her ankles, and she wishes she had some pants.

The _thing _is gaining on her, she can hear its breath whistling wet and useless in its throat, and she needs a weapon. She searches as she runs, hoping to find something.

And she does.

A rake, propped up against someone's house. She springs for it, grabbing the handle and barely having time to turn and swing before the creature's horrid breath fills her nose.

She aims for the head, because it looks vulnerable. She's right. The rake squashes the thing's head with one blow, and it squelches and collapses under the weapon like a rotten fruit.

Jane drops the rake and falls to her knees. She turns away from the grey matter splattered on the ground and vomits, but still only manages to bring up a string of bile that burns her throat. She knows that means she needs to eat something, to at least put something in her body, but at this moment she's sure she'll never be able to eat again.

The first place she checks is Maura's house.

She isn't sure what she thinks she'll find there, but she prays to whatever God there may or may not be that the doctor is there, alive, sheltered from the…. What is this, anyway?

The zombie apocalypse?

The term seems almost too comical, too light hearted to describe the situation.

Jane does a lot of crying when she finds Maura's house to be not only empty, but completely destroyed. She knows it must mean that Maura didn't make it, that she didn't survive – but she tries to have a little hope anyway.

It's the first time she's allowed herself to feel anything since waking up. She's been on survival mode, trying to figure out what's happening, trying to outrun zombie-like creatures. The sight of Maura's ransacked house has finally sent her over the edge, and she cries out with loud, ugly sobs, rocking on her knees in the middle of what used to be the living room.

There's a sudden scuttling from the kitchen, and Jane stiffens, quiets. She listens.

It goes again.

She rises to her feet, and grabs the poker from beside the fireplace. Then, creeping real slow, she heads for the kitchen.

What she finds brings on a new wave of tears. For there, lazily dragging himself along the linoleum floor, is Bass the turtle.

_Tortoise, _Maura's voice corrects in her head, and she runs the back of her hand under her nose.

"Well I'll be damned," she grunts, kneeling and reaching out a hand. The tortoise immediately draws into his shell, but Jane can't blame him. He's been living in a fucked up world.

She wonders what he's been living off of, and notices the strawberries piled under the kitchen table.

She doubts Bass put them there.

Someone's been taking care of him.

Hope springs in her chest. There might not be anyone in this house, but someone has been making sure Bass has something to eat and she's going to find out who. She turns and runs to the door with new exuberance.

"Freeze!" a voice yells the second she exits the house, and she is so startled by the sound of another human being that she stumbles back, tripping and falling on her ass. Her hands shoot into the air.

"Please!" she shouts, eyes shut, "Please help me!"

But the person doesn't say anything to that, and, beginning to worry that she imagined it, she opens her eyes.

And stares.

"Korsak," she gasps.


	3. Queen of the Dead

******A Zombie Hides My Face**

**Chapter 3:**

**Queen of the Dead**

There was a time when Doctor Maura Isles preferred the company of the dead.

The dead did not judge her. The dead were quiet, understanding.

But the dead aren't so quiet anymore.

Actually, she doesn't think these things can be referred to as dead. For all intents and purposes, they are indeed not living – but they are not really dead, either. Their hearts are stopped, all bodily functions have ceased – and yet they walk. They vocalize. Something in their brains has sparked back to life and turned them into moaning, stumbling mockeries of death.

It _disgusts_ her.

"The dead are coming!" someone shouts, and Maura hunkers down in the sterile hospital room. She knows there will be many casualties. She's in charge of taking care of those.

There will be many newly-turned walkers.

She takes care of those as well.

She loads her rifle and camps in a corner, the door and the window both in her sight. She's several floors up, and so far the walkers have not shown enough strength and ability to climb, but she doesn't take any chances.

"Doctor? What's happening?" call the fearful voices of the sick and injured. Some of them were injured in battle, but most of them are original patients who were saved the first time the walkers showed.

"Doctor? Doctor?" their voices call in a panic. They want her to come to them, protect them, reassure them.

Comfort them.

But working with the dead has given Maura a terrible bedside manner, and so she stays camped in the corner.

The door doesn't close anymore. It's been bashed in so many times that it jams every time they try. So Maura keeps a trained eye on the dark entry way, and shushes the moaning patients. "The noise will attract them," she says casually, as if she's saying that flowers attract bees.

And the noise does attract one. It lumbers through the door, howling menacingly. Its jaundiced eyes roll, and one ear hangs by a string of meat from its head. It wails and twitches this way and that.

They used to call her Queen of the Dead. She used to sort of revel in the name. It made her feel powerful, dark. Sinister. It was a secret pleasure, an inner pride to have acquired a nickname so apt at making people tremble.

She's not sure how she feels about it now.

The patients either know better not to antagonize it or are merely too scared to muster sound, because they remain silent. Maura squints one eye, aims. She is cold, detached as she prepares to kill something not quite human, but close enough. Her homemade silencer muffles the sound, and the bullet connects with malleable face-flesh. The thing collapses with a dull _thunk._

Maura sighs and lowers her gun. When she glances down, she groans.

"Doctor? Are you all right? What is it?"

Maura sighs, and sends one more bullet sailing through the thing's head for good measure. "I got blood all over my Louboutins. These were my last good pair of heels."

Queen of the Dead, indeed.


	4. Bang

******A Zombie Hides My Face**

**Chapter 4:**

**Bang**

"Janie!" shouts Korsak, and the way his face crumples has Jane startled. She can't remember a single time she's seen the older detective cry. He lowers his rifle immediately and comes forward, closing the gap between them in 3 long strides. He takes her face in his hands.

"Oh kid," he says, rubbing his hands along the contours of her face as if to assure himself she's really there. "We thought you were dead."

"Yo Korsak, everything cool?" Frost rounds the corner of the house, looking concerned "I heard-" but he stops when he sees Jane, white and huddled on the porch steps. White and sickly, but very much alive.

"Holy shit," he gasps, and Korsak laughs.

"You can say that again."

"Holy _shit!_ Frost shoulders his rifle and kneels next to her. "Where you been, partner?"

"Passed out in a hospital room," groans Jane, shuddering as she remembers the horror of waking earlier that day. Korsak removes his camo jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. She is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she's wearing only a hospital gown and some underpants.

"So what is all this shit?" she gestures vaguely to the surrounding area, the fallen bodies. "I've been runnin' around tryin' to figure it out all day, but I gotta admit, I'm a little lost."

"Pah, ain't that the understatement of the century," chuckles Korsak, and he and Frost each take an arm and heave her to her feet. The day's toll is catching up to her, and her limbs feel heavy.

"Where to start," ponders Frost. "Well, after you, ya know, shot yourself-"

And it all comes back in Technicolor clarity.

_She can't believe it's come to this. Just a few hours ago she was getting a coffee, joking with Maura. Now she's got the strong arm of a dirty cop wrapped around her neck and the cold butt of a gun to her head._

_ He shouts something unintelligible in her ear, his breath hot and sticky on her already perspiring skin. She struggles against him, grunting each time he pulls that arm a little tighter around her throat-_

_ "Shoot him!" she manages to sputter. "Do it! Take the shot!"_

_ But they're hesitating._

_ She'll just have to take it instead._

_ What happens next is enveloped by white pain and shattered consciousness._

"Whoa," grunts Korsak, and at the same time Frost grumbles "Shit!" as they lower her to the ground. Her legs have folded beneath her, about as weight-bearing as paper.

"Janie, can you hear me?" Korsak's voice breaks through the ringing in her ears, but she's not concerned about herself.

"Frankie?" she gasps. "Did he make it? Did he-"

"He made it, Janie. You saved him. But, well…."

"But what?" the churning in her stomach is making her angry. She's sick and scared and worried and she wouldn't mind a nap.

"The walkers…. Them dead things…. They took a lotta lives, Jane," murmurs Frost gently. "Frankie, Tommy, your Ma…. They put up a helluva fight. Bravest damn people I ever seen. But when that first hoard came… It's a miracle Korsak and I are still alive, really."

"Some miracle," scoffs Korsak bitterly.

"What're you try'na say, Frost?" shouts Jane. The ringing in her ears has become a full-on set of whining sirens, and she's finding it hard to think straight. But Frost can't seem to answer, just turns away.

"We're real sorry, Janie," says Korsak in his "sick puppy" voice.

"Shut up!" roars Jane suddenly, and even she isn't expecting it when her fist connects with Korsak's face. In her weakened state, it isn't even enough to leave a mark, but it is enough to throw the older detective off. "You quit fuckin' with me and tell me the truth, Vince Korsak, or I swear to God-"

Korsak throws his hands in the air. "It's the honest truth, Janie. I wouldn't never lie to you about shit like this. What you take me for?"

"I shoulda been there," she says suddenly. "I shoulda protected em. I shoulda fought for em and I _wasn't even there,_" her voice breaks.

"There wasn't nothin' you could do, Jane," Frost tries to convince her.

"Bullshit!" she roars, standing suddenly, unaware of the exhaustion in her legs. "I coulda not shot myself like some kinda fuckin' moron, but instead that's what I did and I got to take a nice little nap while my family was ripped apart!"

"You did what ya had to, Janie," Korsak offers.

Something hits Jane then. She isn't sure what makes her think of it, but now it's all she can think of.

"And Maura?" she demands. "Where's Maura?"

"Skipped town just before the first wave of em," explains Korsak. "She was goin' to meet with a doctor in some hospital nearby because she didn't think you were getting the proper care here," he shakes his head, smiling fondly.

Jane sinks to her knees. "Do you think there's a chance she's-" she swallows, "still alive?"

Frost stands and re-shoulders his rifle. "Doubt it," he declares grimly.

* * *

Maura tries to identify each newly-turned walker before executing them.

This one looks like that older lady Emilia who liked to sing show tunes. What was her last name?

Ah. Yes.

She scribbles _Emilia Dune _on the back of someone's old, yellowing medical chart.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Emilia."

The woman's no-longer-human eyes stare widely at her from the ground. None of them have fully changed yet, and none of them have reached the stage where fine motor skills kick back in.

She points her pistol.

She fires.

It's so frighteningly easy, ending lives like this. She thinks that's why she needs the identification, needs to let them know that they will be remembered.

It would be so easy to just forget. To forget these faces.

To forget _her _face.

_Jane…_

The thought of Jane being just another dead body, forgotten in a pile, makes her stomach hurt. And so with every life ended, she remembers.

"I'm sorry this happened to you."

_Bang._


	5. Special

******A Zombie Hides My Face**

**Chapter 5: **

**Special**

Jane Rizzoli isn't patient and she doesn't wait around.

In fact she's pretty sure none of those words are even in her vocabulary.

"Janie, you should really be resting," insists Korsak as she paces the bullpen of the Boston Police Department. Korsak and Frost are the only ones who have stuck around or survived, and they've taken cots and set them up in their former workplace.

"No time," she mumbles, and she looks up at him. "You guys got a car?"

"Nah. We stick to this part of the city, mostly, so we haven't bothered to get one. Why?"

Jane ignores his inquiry and begins mumbling to herself. "All right, so I gotta get a car. I can probably siphon gas from other cars, no problem." She runs a hand through her unruly hair and tries not to wince from the twinge the motion puts in her abdomen.

"What the hell are you blabbering about over there?" demands Frost from his cot in the corner. Jane looks at him as if he has just acquired three more noses.

"Um, I'm _talkin' about _going to find Maura. Actually, I'm kinda surprised and horrified that you guys haven't gone looking for her yet." Jane looks at them with narrowed eyes, all spit-fire and Rizzoli determination.

"Janie, we told ya," groans Korsak, kneading his brow with scraped knuckles and looking as if he's thinking this is all too much for someone his age, "we don't even know if Maura's alive, or if she's still there."

"She's probably dead, Jane," says Fost gently. Jane rolls her eyes.

"You guys thought I was dead too, and look where that got you!"

Korsak shrugs. "She's gotta point, man."

"It's too dangerous," Frost insists, sitting up and looking determined. "I know you just woke up and you don't know what it's like out there, but shit's gotten real, Jane."

"You think I don't know that?" Snarls Jane. "I woke up in an abandoned hospital room with a gunhot wound and walked outside only to be chased by one of those…. Those… _things…"_

"Walkers," clarifies Korsak, nodding sagely.

"And anyway," continues Jane, "it might be the end of the world, but we're still cops, Frost. We still got cop's blood, detective's blood. A little danger ain't never stopped us from findin' someone before."

Korsak looks impressed. Frost sits silent and stunned for a moment before a wry grin spreads white across his dark face.

"You ever think of becomin' a motivational speaker, Rizzoli?"

"Only if it means gettin' you off your lazy ass, Frost," she grins, coming over and slapping him on his back.

"Okay," says Frost, "you've convinced me. What say you, Korsak, my man?"

Korsak smirks. "Hell, it's the end of the world, ain't it? What good's sittin' around waitin' to die when you can have a little adventure first?"

Jane looks pleased, but tries to hide it.

"Gentleman," she says, "Let's find ourselves a doctor."

* * *

"Hold still, now," Maura murmurs, trying to sound kind and gentle. But it's hard. Her heart is hard. She doesn't feel anything.

The small child squirms as Maura splints her arm. The little girl had fallen in the scuffle with the walkers and most likely sprained her arm.

"I told you, I'm _fine,_" the girl grumbles irritably, unimpressed with Maura's diagnosis. "I wanna go play."

"Jane, quit being stubborn." Maura is trying to concentrate and wishes the girl would stop whining.

"Emma."

"What?" Maura's head snaps up in sudden confusion.

"You called me Jane. My name is Emma."

Maura feels a sudden, crushing sadness at the name. It's the first thing she's felt in weeks. She wishes she could go back to the cold, stony emptiness again. This is too painful.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Emma. I'm not sure what's come over me." She finishes wrapping the splint, eyes downcast. The girl, once so eager to leave and play with the other small children, is now suddenly very still and sober.

"Who's Jane?" she murmurs quietly. "Is she very special?"

Maura feels her throat close, her heart race. She moves to take a seat beside the child. "Yes, Emma. She is a very special person to me."

"What happened to her?"

Maura closes her eyes against the memory. "She was… sick, before all this happened. I am certain she didn't survive."

"Oh." That's it. No "I'm sorry" or false sympathy. That's the wonderful thing about children, Maura thinks. They are so incredibly honest and candid- they don't need to put on any kind of show.

"My mommy didn't survive either. She was special. Sometimes I accidentally call people "mommy" when I'm thinking of her. That's how I knew Jane was special to you." Emma lays her head on Maura's shoulder, and she jumps at the warm contact. So much time spent being cold…. She thinks that this warmth, though coupled with pain, feels a bit better.

"Do you love her very much?" whispers Emma innocently.

"Yes," Maura curses the way her voice warbles with unreleased sobs, "Very, very much."


	6. Thicker Than Water

******A Zombie Hides My Face**

**Chapter 6:**

**Thicker Than Water**

_There's water everywhere._

_ It's in her eyes, soaking through her clothes, lukewarm and spreading fast. The world tilts and she looks again._

_ And suddenly it's not water anymore. It's blood, thicker and redder than any she's ever seen before (and she's seen her fair share of blood). It slides slow and sticky down her skin like heavy syrup. It's all over her, streaked across her face, caked in her hair. How did it get in her hair? Whose blood?_

_ Her own._

_ And the world snaps into frightening focus. She's shot herself in order to shoot the perp, through her abdomen to get to him. It had seemed like a good idea._

_ Now she vaguely regrets it._

_ And she's on the ground, and she's crying out for her mother and trembling with undue force and someone nearby is screaming her name and all the sounds come together in one great terrifying cacophony-_

And she wakes to her own voice wailing, still calling for her mother, pain-filled and scared. She sits upright, another scream dying on her lips.

Beneath that is another sound, the sound of Korsak and Frost shooting to their feet, and the sound of moaning. Deep, guttural, rattling moans that chill her.

She recalls Korsak explaining the walkers to her.

_Sound attracts 'em. We put silencers on all our guns._

God damn it. Her pathetic wailing attracted a walker, maybe more.

"2 walkers, 2 o'clock," calls Korsak, as if reading her mind.

"I'm s-s-_sorry," _she gasps, shivering, and she's beginning to notice a painful throb in her abdomen that's correlating with her heartbeat and matching an equally painful sensation in her hands.

It's the weather. It's getting colder out – winter will be approaching soon. Her hands are stiffening in the changing atmosphere, her now long since healed ribs aching with the memory of a bullet.

The nightmare was out of nowhere. She hasn't dreamed since before she shot herself, and this one was so startlingly vivid it had struck a real-life fear in her.

"It's okay, Janie," calls Korsak, thrusting his knife under the chin of a walker and up into its malleable brain matter. "It's okay, don't worry."

Frost easily smashes the front door into the head of the second walker, and silence falls again, save for the sniffling coming from Jane that they all pretend not to hear.

It's been two weeks. Jane's wound is healing more every day, but she's tired, and the dull ache never goes away. In addition, her hands have begun to lock up in the new cold, arthritic and useless. She can hardly use a gun anymore. The thought brings bile burning up her throat, so she tries not to think about it.

"I don't know what happened," moans Jane, flopping back down on the hard floor. They're spending the night in an abandoned house, sleeping on the hardwood floor of the kitchen.

"Was it a nightmare?" inquires Korsak, settling back down with his knife clutched in both hands.

"Yea. About….. the day I got shot. God, I'm sorry, guys. That was….pathetic."

"Psh," scoffs Frost as he checks out all the windows for any more walkers. "Like me and the old man haven't had nightmares. I've woken to him givin' some pretty girly screams before."

"Not as girly as your scream!" chortles Korsak, and Frost pretends to look offended.

Their laughter dies down, and Jane wrings her hands, trying to flex them. They won't obey, and she hisses at the pain it causes when they lock. If there were some way to get warm, she wouldn't have this problem… but there's no heating and cooling in the zombie apocalypse, Jane thinks bitterly.

"Hands still botherin' ya?" Korsak murmurs sleepily.

"Mm," mumbles Jane. "They'll be pretty useless soon, I think."

They all try not to think of the implications of this.


	7. Crossroads

**A Zombie Hides My Face**

**Chapter 7:**

**Crossroads**

Something is not right.

Jane is overcome with the feeling abruptly, and her head shoots up. She was concentrating on sharpening her knife, but now her eyes scan the tree line with a strange uneasiness.

"Jane?" Korsak asks, seeing her tense. He pauses halfway through loading the fire with more timber.

"Something…" Jane whispers, but she stops, unable to put her finger on it. This is not their first rodeo with Jane's gut instinct – it's part of what makes her such an accomplished detective – and so Korsak and Frost wait patiently.

And then the first walker comes stumbling out into the clearing.

"Shit," Korsak whispers, lifting his rifle and taking aim. Jane puts a hand on his arm, lowering his weapon. "No," she says. "Silencer or no, that'll attract more. I'll get 'im." She brandishes her blade. Korsak looks like he doesn't like the thought of her getting so close to a walker, but knows Jane will never give in. He nods.

She walks with a purpose, boots crunching heavily in the snow. She counts to ten and breathes evenly through her nose, puffs of white leaving her rhythmically.

The walker, a man in his twenties sporting a marathon runner's bib, howls and moves towards her with a halting gait. Its eyes roll. Its remaining black teeth mash together.

It comes for her.

And she strikes. Upwards, through the jaw, into the brain. She shakes bits of him off of her hand, listens to him hit the ground with a satisfying thunk. Mumbles "Bastard" and kneels on the ground to wipe her blade off in the snow.

Then Korsak yells for her. Urgent, like her life depends on it.

And she sees that it does.

Because coming from the forest is a group – no, a horde – of walkers, at least thirty, all moaning and wailing and reaching blindly for her.

For an instant she is frozen, eyes locked on the scene before her. For a moment she is almost amused, because this is just like a damn horror movie.

And then Korsak opens fire.

And she is brought back.

Jane lurches upwards, feet scrambling for purchase beneath her as she momentarily forgets how to use them. She trips once, and for a second she is running on all fours.

Like a _dog._

Frost reaches for her and pulls her beside him by the sleeve of her jacket, holding on as if to reassure himself that she is, indeed, here. He levels his pistol and begins to fire. Jane does the same, knife in one hand, gun in the other.

But they are losing, and the walkers overtake them. Jane switches back to her knife, thrusting it in every direction she can, feeling it connect with soft brains and rotted out bellies. She slips into auto-pilot, her body moving without any real consent from her.

It does what human bodies do best, even in a dying world.

It survives.

And as the herd thins Jane feels a glimmer of hope. Maybe they'll make it out of this, after all. Maybe they'll get lucky this time.

And then, Korsak screams.

A real scream, full of fear and anguish. Jane whips around in time to see a walker sinking its teeth into his arm. Blood squirts out, decorating the elder detective's worn face like war paint.

And Jane sees red.

She tackles the walker without second thought, landing on top of it as it hits the ground. She straddles it, and it squirms and growls and tries to get at her, but its arms are pinned beneath her thighs.

It is at her mercy, and she has none to spare.

She lets out a feral howl, raises her knife and plunges it into the creature's skull. Then yanks it free.

And stabs it again.

And then she's roaring obscenities and stabbing and stabbing, over and over again, her arms pumping with a speed and ferocity she hasn't felt in a long time.

Her hands don't hurt now.

Her heart does.

Eventually her voice grows hoarse and her arms stop working for the burn in their muscles, and she stops, panting. Tears blur her vision.

She hears a moan from behind her and drops the knife immediately. Stumbling, she tries to stand upright and turn around at the same time. She plows forward through the fallen bodies, dropping to her knees beside a white-faced Korsak.

"Oh God," moans Frost, his voice trembling. "Ohgodohgodohgod-"

"Big… baby," Korsak manages, smirking. Jane lays a hand on his worry-lined forehead and accidentally leaves a streak of walker blood there. Korsak reaches with his uninjured hand to grab her wrist. Then her hand. He clutches it tightly, reassuringly.

He tells her "You know what you have to do. We can't depend on Frostie over here for nothin'." And Frost wails and Jane shakes her head and Korsak brings her hand to his shivering lips and smiles.

"You're a good kid, Janie. Good and strong. Keep it that way, okay? Don't ever do nothin' if you don't think it's right."

"Korsak," Jane stammers. "Korsak, _this _isn't right!"

"It's right," he says. "Trust me. I'm just an old man. But you two – ya gotta look out for each other, okay? Take care of each other." Frost has gained a bit of control over himself, and the two younger detectives nod, sniveling like children.

"And Janie – you find Maura. You find her. The two of you – you belong together. I have never seen two people need each other the way you girls do. She's alive Janie, ya gotta believe that. Find her. That's an order from your superior officer."

Jane snorts an ungraceful laugh through her tears. "Yes sir."

"Good. Now do it… before I turn…" His voice trails away, his eyes go wide.

Frost begins to sob again. Jane is tempted, but knows she owes this to Korsak.

She stands.

And with a solemn face, she points her pistol.

_Don't look away. You owe him that._

Freezing rain begins to fall.

_Don't look away. His death deserves honor. An audience._

_ Don't-_

She pulls the trigger.


End file.
